Mend My Crazy, Broken Heart
by IrishFrenchy
Summary: Sherlock has been gone for a few months now, but John can't seem to come to terms with it. He loved Sherlock with all his heart... One night, he gets drunk and he sees someone he never expected to see again. Johnlock


John sat all alone as he downed his second bourbon and ice. He was in the back of the pub, at a table by himself. Not many people were in the bar tonight. There were a few girls looked to score and some guys who looked like construction workers who needed a break, not that John could blame them much.

It was nearly eight o'clock at night and outside, it was dark. Street lamps lit the cobble stones of the avenue and people walked by with their sweethearts, hand in hand. John grumbled something that sounds like, "Lucky," and went back to nursing his drink. A woman who was dressed in barely anything smiled over in this direction but he blatantly ignored her, turning his head away. She huffed and looked away, back to the tele in the pub. It brought him some satisfaction that he had aggravated her, and he smirked to himself.

On the radio, David Gray played. The lyrics of the song were forever etched into John's mind, for it had been Sherlock's favorite song. John only sunk deeper into his seat, frowning heavily.

_Sprung like a wild orchid_

_Curled like a wav_

_Hanging like wood smoke, yeah, _

_In the airy glade_

_Only the wine talking,_

_Only the wine_

_Head spinning, mouth open_

_Time after time_

"I still can't believe he's gone," he said to himself. "And he's not coming back." He frowned drunkenly and went to finish off the amber colored liquid in his glass. He cringed as the alcohol burned his throat as it went down. "What did I ever do to deserve this? I must have been a Nazi in my past life…" John ran his hand over his face and looked around the bar.

It had been two months since Sherlock's death and though time had lapsed, his heart had not even begun to heal, and he was sure it probably never would. To the reason he was in the bar tonight, he needed some feeling-sorry-for-myself quality time with a drink. "Why do I still love him?" he asked himself quietly as he stared down into his empty glass. Though he was never able to admit it to the quirky consulting detective, he had stolen his heart.

_Sympathetic_

_Won't forget it_

_Hope I never live to see the day _

_Gone forever_

_Ah, whatever_

_Help me find the way home _

Not wanting to be where he was anymore, he pulled out some bills to pay for his drinks. He threw down enough to cover the tab and stumbled out of the smokey pub.

Outside, the air was cool and he took a deep breath as he closed the old door to the bar behind him. The cool night air sobered him a little and he sighed. He buttoned up his jacket slowly as he looked up at the night sky, to the blanket of stars that covered the darkness.

He frowned and pulled his jacket closer. All around, people walked by lost in their own little worlds. John Watson envied them. Their hearts weren't broken. They had lives, love, and people who cared about the. "Oh, shut up," John told himself, stopping his thoughts from going down that path. "Self loathing never gets anyone anywhere." He could still hear the music from the bar and the lyrics floated through an opened window, causing him to sigh heavily.

_Coiled in my synapses_

_Poised like a snake_

_There as the time lapses_

_And the levee breaks_

_Only the wine talking,_

_Only the wine_

_Head spinning, mouth open_

_Time after time_

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. He didn't have time to react, it happened too quickly. He struggled a little but to no avail, he was a little too intoxicated for that. He was pulled into a dark alley and his eyes darted around, trying to focus on his surroundings. Someone pushed him against the brick of a building, but not too hard. It was almost as if they took care in not hurting him.

Finally, he got the chance to see his kidnapper. Even in the dark, he knew those pale green eyes. A gasp escaped his lips and echoed down the alleyway. "What the fu-" he shouted but was cut off by a warm hand over his mouth. "I'll explain later," the man said and let go of John's mouth, letting his hand fall.

"Sherlock, you're dead!" Their eyes met in the darkness and John seemed to slink away from the man, putting distance between them. "No, silly, I'm not. Isn't that obvious?" John shuddered at his words and shook his head. "I saw you die! You jumped… To be honest," he said and stopped. "I feel like I'm in a zombie movie right now. Please tell me you're not a zombie or a vampire or something along those lines. This is a dream, this is a dream." John tried to smile, but it fell quickly. He gulped nervously as Sherlock watched him.

Sherlock reached out and patted the doctor's shoulder. A chuckle escaped his lips. "I had to fake my death, John. I'm sorry it hurt you but I had to do it, it was necessary. In fact, me just being here is probably putting your life is danger once again," he said with a distant look. "I couldn't stay away any loner, though. I missed you something terrible." John's eyebrows drew together as he watched the consulting detective slip his hands into his pockets. He wore dark dress pants, a blue button down and his normal over coat, but no scarf. It was odd to see him with nothing around his neck, and he saw how pale the man's skin was. It was teasing, almost. John had to avert his gaze, so he looked to the cobble stone. A street lamp flickered and they both looked over at it, momentarily caught by its flicker. "What are you talking about? Why was it necessary?" John asked finally, raising his eyebrows at his friend.

Sherlock leaned his weight on a leg and looked to the ground for a moment, before back up at John. The doctor could smell his aftershave and cologne, and for a moment he was lost. He had missed him so much, and now, here he was standing in front of him. John breathed him in, closing his eyes for a short moment. Sherlock watched him, all sorts of deductions going on his head. For one terrifying moment, John thought the detective had figured him out. Maybe he knew John loved him, how much he loved him, for how long he had loved. I mean, hell, he'd deduced even more than that from just the look on someone's face.

"Needless to say, you are one of the only people who know I'm alive," Sherlock began. "That would explain why I pulled you behind this building. I didn't want people to see me, us. I'm still afraid for you." His eyes darted to the street, where people walked by, completely oblivious to them and the conversation they were having. "I have been hiding out these past few months and… Good Lord, you smell like alcohol." John smirked as he looked back up at Sherlock, meeting his eyes. "Sorry."

In some odd way, John felt whole again. He felt like himself, like a piece of himself that was missing had been returned. Sherlock was that missing piece, and he looked up at the consulting detective with a tender gaze. He loved Sherlock, no denying it anymore. He never meant to fall for him, it just sort of happened. He couldn't live without him.

Sherlock tilted his head as he watched John. The doctor cocked an eyebrow at him in question. "What are you looking at me like that for?" He swallowed visibly and took a step away from Sherlock, towards the brick of the building wall. Sherlock merely smiled, his eyes seeming lighter than before. "Can I try something?" John's heart began to drum like a hammer and he tried to look normal. "Try what? You're not going to use in one of your little experiments, are you?" John could tell Sherlock's mind was buzzing and sighed. Still, John rambled on. "That was one thing I sure didn't miss, being your little gineau pig." Sherlock chuckled and waited for John to close his trap. "It's an experiment of sorts…" he said and reached out to pull John to him. "What are you..." John began but trailed off. Sherlock leaned down to the doctor and just watched him for a moment. John looked shocked, a bit horrified, but to Sherlock's surprised, he didn't pull away.

Sherlock saw it then… It wasn't like he could have missed it. After all, he was a man who made a living on _noticing_ things. There was a yearning in John's eyes, a passion Sherlock hadn't noticed before.

Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to John's. For a moment, the doctor stiffened but he eventually returned the kiss. John felt Sherlock sigh into his lips and he knew he was goner, he was swept away. It was easy to see why Molly had fallen for him, and so easily. Sherlock smiled into his lips as John wrapped an arm around his trim waist. The kiss was sweet, tender. It was as if time itself had stopped and the only thing that really mattered, was them.

People walked by on the cobble stone street, not even caring to notice the two men sharing an intimate moment in the dark. As Sherlock slowly pulled away, a smile found his handsome features. He watched as John opened his eyes. His cheeks were flush and he didn't bother letting Sherlock go, he kept holding onto his waist but softly. For a long moment, they just watched each other. "I have wanted to do that since the day I met you," the detective said, unsure of how John would react. He was surprised when John leaned in and pressed his lips to his again, without any comments or disapprovals.

This kiss was different; it was fuller, more passionate. Sherlock lost his fingers in the doctor's hair as they fought for dominance. He could taste the bourbon in John's mouth and it suddenly occurred to him why the man had been drinking in the first place. He pulled back, surprising John. "You were drinking because of me, huh? Did I hurt you that bad?" Sherlock asked, gasping a little as if the whole idea was a shock to him. The way he looked at John rocked his world off kilter, and he didn't know how to respond. "Umm," John began but couldn't find the words. "I'm..." He ended up letting the sentence trail off and just shut his mouth.

The consulting detective's filled with tears. John was slightly taken aback, never having seen tears in Sherlock's eyes. "I'm so sorry," Sherlock told him, putting his forehead to John's. "Forgive me." John merely sighed and pulled the dark, curly haired man closer and wrapped his arms around his overcoat. "Just don't do that again, okay?" With merely a smile, Sherlock knew John had forgiven him. It was just as easy as that.

Sherlock pulled back, looking at John with a soft smile. Everything in his life was so black and white, clear cut, right or wrong. John though, John made his head spin, confused him, made him angry at times, and made him happier than he ever had been. Emotions had once been something he had discarded like an empty wrapper, but now, he had changed. These past few months had changed him, made him see life differently. Spending time away from the ones he loved had made him realize that you cannot ignore your emotions, bury them, discard them. For one thing, it's unealthy, and it makes you unhappy. He needed happiness that, that was the one thing that was missing in his life. In that moment, he nearly blurted out that he loved the good doctor, but he decided now was not the time. They would have all the time in the world for that later.

John pulled him from his thoughts with a nudge. "Alright?" Sherlock nodded his head in response, smiling softly. "Okay," he answered. "I promise." After a moment, John rubbed his temple and looked around. "What do we do now?" he asked, referring to Sherlock's situation. "I haven't figured that part out yet," Sherlock replied, smiling stupidly. "Oh, well, that's fantastic. You devised this entire pln to fake your death but you couldn't figure out what to do when you came back." They both shared a laugh and in the first in a long time, Sherlock felt himself again, right again. It had been a long time since he had even smiled.

"I suppose we can sneak you over to Baker Street?" John's question broke Sherlock's train of thought. "Yes, I suppose we can. Good idea, John. I do miss Mrs. Hudson dearly. But, we have to be quiet about my return. Not many people can know." John nodded and added, "Your room is empty now, obviously. Sorry. We'll get your stuff out of the attic tomorrow, I suppose." Out of the corner of his eye, John saw a smirk meet Sherlock's lips. "I hope you're referring to sneaking me into _your _bed, then. The floor won't bode well for my back." John winked over at the man and shook his head. "Of course, wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
